


See Through Me

by inkandwords



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, atsu fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4688891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandwords/pseuds/inkandwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes having it all can destroy everything. But when it’s least expected, a light breaks through Kise’s darkness and maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late to save himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Worth Saving

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the film _Beyond the Lights_ and partly by [Fly Before You Fall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJRvstYS9eY) by Cynthia Erivo. 
> 
> I watched this movie not too long ago and it screamed AoKise at me, so even though it may have some themes that are a little sensitive and on the darker side of the spectrum, I wanted to explore it and see where it leads me... hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> -H

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise is at the top of the world and the only way left to go is down.

* * *

  _“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”_

-Laurell K. Hamilton

* * *

 

Silence is a reprieve. 

As the SUV pulls up in front of the Dolby Theater, Kise Ryouta stares out the window at the crowd gathered outside, their screams and flashing lights muted through the tinted glass and soundproofed interior. He is used to the attention, used to the fanatical cat calls, the aggressive displays; he sees it, hears it, and knows he should be elated, that this is all he’s ever wanted growing up. 

But he doesn’t.

In fact, he feels nothing at all. 

_No one sees me. Not really._

The thought saddens him, but he forces it back, makes it fade into the background noise swarming in his head. He takes a sharp breath as the door opens, his mouth schooled into one of his thousand-watt smiles. It’s an automatic reaction to the frenzied attention, a defensive mechanism he’s cultivated over years of public scrutiny, of having every camera from every trashy publication known to man shoved in his face like they had a right to be there, to document each moment in a life he barely remembers. 

_“Kise! Over here, Kise!”_

_“You’re looking hot! Give us a smile this way!”_

_“Look over here! Can we get a shot of you?”_

His name is called from every direction, but he barely hears them. Even with so many people clamoring for his attention, he feels alone. Empty. A shell with nothing left to anchor him down, to root him to a life he thought he wanted. But he doesn’t crack, doesn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. Instead, he goes through the motions as he makes his way down the red carpet, waving and flashing the infectious smile perfected in front of his bathroom mirror when he was nothing more than a child with dreams of grandeur. 

Sometimes he wishes things were still that simple.

* * *

 

When he was younger, his sisters would help set up elaborate stages, different sets constructed out of colored paper and tape, crayon doodles all the details he needed in order to put his overactive imagination to good use. He would spend hours playing out scenes, belting out songs from every musical he could get his hands on, and strutting down “carpet” made of red paper pretending he was a famous model. He remembers thinking how cool it would be if everyone knew his name, how fulfilling it would be if all eyes were on him like he was the brightest star in a sea of constellations. 

“Ryouta-kun, they’re ready for you,” his sister, Rika, says as she pokes her head into the dressing room. She raises a brow at his half-done attire and throws him a pointed look before directing her attention toward Takao and Kuroko. “Make sure he’s ready in five, okay? He can’t hold up the broadcast and I’ve already got the producer in my ear about the time.” She disappears into the hall without waiting for a response. 

“Sorry about that, Ryou-chan,” Takao begins as he moves to gather the rest of Kise’s costume. “I would’ve--”

But Kise waves off the apology and forces a smile. “Don’t be sorry! It’s really my fault for dragging my feet.”

Takao doesn’t bite the offhanded dismissal and takes the initiative, hurrying over to grab Kise’s jacket while Kuroko steps behind him, hair wax at the ready. Kise holds out his arms as Takao snaps the suspenders on and slips the jacket around him, trying to avoid tangling with Kuroko, who is busy mussing up Kise’s hair just enough to look naturally provocative. 

“You’re getting way too good at this, Kurokocchi!” Kise says, trying for his usual chipper tone, but cracking nontheless.

Kuroko pauses when Kise stares at his own reflection, his brows furrowing in that familiar way Kise is used to. “Are you okay? You look a little dazed. They’re queuing you up after Linkin Park’s performance.”

“I’m fine,” he says a little too dully, lips quirking. When he realizes the lack of enthusiasm in his response, he brightens the smile and forces his voice back into a cheerier octave like a shot of adrenaline through bone-dry veins. “Are my sisters giving you grief on the earpiece?”

“They’re prepped and waiting, like always,” comes the response before Kuroko disappears back out into the busy hallway. “Reiko-san says to remember to wink at camera B right before the instrumental bridge going into the dance routine.”

“Right. You guys go ahead. I just need a minute and I’ll be right out.” When the door shuts behind them, Kise’s gaze lingers on his reflection as he stands, and he smiles wide, despite the hollow sensation he feels. “ _Showtime_.”

* * *

 

“That was a great set, Ryouta-kun, but you should’ve kept your eyes open at the last chorus. It makes you seem closed off from your audience.” Rika, the oldest of Kise’s sisters, clucks her tongue reproachfully as she steers Kise through the back corridor leading to the underground garage where the car service should be. 

His other sister, Reiko, is busy going over the scheduled appearances for the night, but again he tunes out. Deep down, he knows his sisters don’t mean to be bluntly abrasive, that they are looking out for his career because that’s what his managers are supposed to do, but still...

He’s tired, weary from more than just the performance, more than the run down of muscles and aches reaching bone-deep. He wants to sleep, wants to close his eyes until he doesn’t feel anything anymore. 

“Are you listening to me?” Reiko asks with a snap of her fingers, the crease between her brows a familiar indication that she’s said something more than once without a response. “L.A. Times wants a photo op before we head to the after party.” When Kise quirks a brow questioningly, she sighs, exasperated. “For the entertainment spread in tomorrow’s paper. Your Oscar win, remember?”

“The car’s here,” Rika informs them, her hand already on Kise’s elbow, guiding him into the vehicle without waiting for his response. “Kuroko and Takao will accompany you to the hotel to get you changed and cleaned up for the photo op. Reiko and I will meet you there after we talk to the event coordinator for the after party.”

“I don’t want to go,” Kise says petulantly. 

“I guess I’ll have to find someone else to be my date then,” comes a familiar voice behind him as slender arms wrap around Kise’s waist. 

Kise angles his head, already aware of who it is. “Mai-chan,” he says, putting on a smile so dazzling it hurts his cheeks. As an afterthought, he tones it down just enough to be believable. “I didn’t know you were still here. I thought you’d be getting ready for the party.”

_“Kise!”_

_“There he is! Kise! Quick picture!”_

_“Congratulations on the win!”_

_“Kise, I love you!”  
_

_“Over here, over here, Kise!”_

The crowd worsens the longer they stand there. Mai seems to take it all in stride. “I am! I just wanted to see y--”

“Sorry, he’s got to get going. Give him a kiss and you can see him later,” Rika says as she checks her phone for the umpteenth time. 

Mai leans in and presses a lingering kiss against Kise’s mouth. He returns it, automatic like everything else, even if he feels nothing in return. 

“Gotta go,” he says, faking a laugh when he pulls away before heading toward the car.

Camera flashes leaves spots in his vision and Kise stifles a grimace. Thankfully, no one seems to have noticed and he puts on a press-ready smile, waving to the crowd one last time before sliding in next to Kuroko. Takao is already inside, an opened bottle of champagne in his hand. Suddenly, something hits the window with a loud  _thump_ , a few of the fans breaking through the security barrier around the vehicle and fanatically screaming “I love you, Kise!” through the glass. 

“Shit!” Kise jumps back and palms his face, his heart hammering. As Takao’s about to pour himself a glass, Kise yanks the bottle from him and takes a long swig directly from the spout. 

“Kise-kun, you’re drinking.” Kuroko states the obvious, deadpanned even with the accusation, save for the subtle widening of his pale blue eyes. 

Kise dismisses the comment with a wave of his hand. “I’m celebrating.”

“But you don’t drink, Ryou-chan,” Takao interjects, going for the bottle. Concern etches his expression, but Kise holds the champagne just out of reach.

“It’s fine,” Kise insists, not bothering to put his cheerful facade back on and turning his attention toward the window. “First time for everything.” 

He closes his eyes, leans his forehead against the glass, and takes another long gulp. The cold liquid burns his throat, a numbing sensation tingling inside him before he feels it settle in the pit of his stomach. It churns there, keeping the twisting knots company, and despite the onset of dizziness he feels, he keeps drinking until the contents of the entire bottle is gone. 

“Ease up, huh? Your sisters aren’t gonna be happy if you get to the hotel shitfaced.”

“I said I’m fine, Kazunaricchi,” Kise mumbles with a sigh. Takao slips the bottle from his grasp, careful and much too gentle. Kise’s eyes remain closed until he senses the vehicle slow to a full stop. 

“Kise-kun,” Kuroko says, though his tone is softer, less business-like now that his sisters are nowhere in sight. “We’ve arrived. Are you okay?”

 _No_ , he wants to say.  _No, I’m not okay._  

But instead, he nods with a smile and exits the SUV with Kuroko and Takao in tow, stumbling when he misses the step up to the sidewalk. 

“Come on,” Takao says, lifting Kise’s arm over his shoulder and hoisting him up. “I got you.”

* * *

 

“Where’s Matsuoka-san?” Kuroko asks when they approach the hotel room and find someone else standing in front of the entrance, their normal guard nowhere in sight. He quickly checks his phone before warily eyeing the man. “There’s nothing here about a personnel change.”

“Had an emergency, so I’m covering for him,” the man begins and steps forward, but Kise barely hears him. “Congratulations, by the w--”

“No one follows in behind me,” Kise says as the officer slips the key card into the reader. All he wants is to get inside, to have a few minutes to clear his head before he breaks down in front of this complete stranger who probably couldn’t give two shits about how he feels. 

“But Ryou-chan--”

“Kise-kun--”

“I just need a minute!” Kise calls over his shoulder and lets the door click shut behind him before Takao and Kuroko can protest some more.

Kise hears the argument outside as he trudges into the empty hotel room. He takes a look around and remembers the first time he’d stayed at a nice one just like the room he now occupies. His excitement had been unmistakable then; contagious, even. Even his sisters, who were just getting used to Kise’s sudden rise in fame, had shared his enthusiasm. It seems so long ago that he’s felt anything that comes close to that, that makes him giddy and spirited and just genuinely...  _happy_. 

The muffled conversation his new guard is having seems to have stopped and Kise’s glad. It means no one is going to come barging in, that if they cared enough, they would’ve already made it past the temporary barrier the officer has become. 

He slips off his shoes, leaving them discarded haphazardly across the carpeted floor on his way to the balcony. His jacket comes next, dropped in a crumpled heap before he swipes the champagne bottle sitting chilled in a bucket of ice and stumbles outside. The cool air fans his face, brushes across his bare arms, tickles through the thin shirt he wears, but he vaguely notices despite the shiver that ripples through him. 

Before he reaches the railing, a beeping sound stops him mid-step. He pulls out his phone, the gesture automatic with how hectic his schedule usually is. He stares blankly at the screen, Rika’s picture smiling brightly at him from the display.  _I should answer_ , he thinks, but instead he forwards the call to voicemail and steps toward the metal railing. 

Below him, cars and people continue on their way, oblivious to everything around them. How nice that must be, to be able to do what they want, to go where they want, to act how they want. He used to make a game of it -- to guess other people’s lives, how they live, what they aspire to and if their aspirations were as stark a contrast as his had been to the life he now leads. 

He tries to guess now, heat prickling behind his lids as he puts one leg and then the other over the railing. His hand grips the cool metal, the only tether he has left before he takes a swig of the champagne. He wonders how much longer it can hold him before it, too, gives up. He leans back, half sitting on the edge, taking breaths that feel like fire in his lungs; too suffocating, too silent, too much of something he can’t put a name to, but feels all the same. 

 _I see you. I see all of you_ , he thinks, the sting manifesting as tears before they brim and eventually spill over.  _But no one sees me. No one ever_ really _sees me._

A noise sounds behind him, but he doesn’t turn. The footfalls are soft, careful and tentative, and for a moment, Kise wonders who it is. His sisters would have spoken by now, would have screeched about the stupidity of his actions, how inconsiderate he is for finding a coward’s way out, instead of asking what’s wrong. He doesn’t expect it anyway. Everything’s been wrong for so long and no one has bothered to ask. 

“Kise?”

The voice startles him. It’s unfamiliar and familiar all at once and the alcohol isn’t helping his already muddled memory. Still, he doesn’t turn around; not yet. There isn’t anything anyone can say that would get rid of what he’s feeling, that can understand it, that can do something about the walls closing in. 

He runs the back of his hand over his eyes, the skin coming away damp and streaked with eyeliner. His sisters are going to have a field day when they see what a mess he’s made of himself, when they realize how much more work the makeup artist is going to have to do. Glancing down at the lit street below, he wonders how much more work it would be if they found him twelve stories from where he’s sitting. 

“Hey, Kise,” the voice says again, its low drawl nervous somehow, though Kise doesn’t know why. Whoever it is doesn’t know him, shouldn’t care that he’s sitting on the balcony enjoying another bottle of champagne. “Can you at least look at me, huh?”

But then again, his own people don’t know him. Not as well as they think they do. To them, he’s just a pretty face, some decent acting skills, a paycheck to pay for their idolized lifestyles. But no one knows him; not really. 

“Do you know that most people are so busy running back and forth trying to get to the next place, the next thing in their lives, that they usually don’t even see where they are?” Kise asks quietly as something warm trails down his cheeks. 

“Is that right?” the voice answers, still unmistakably shaky. It’s closer now and Kise leans forward, trying to get a better look at the passing traffic through bleary eyes. “How about you turn around and we can talk about it?” There’s a hint of desperation. “C’mon, please?”

Kise sniffles, but refuses to comply. “Why?”

“’Cause I think we can talk a lot better if you weren’t on that railing.”

“No one sees me. It’s always the next thing, the next shoot, the next movie, the next song.” Kise scoffs. “They’re not even my songs. Not one.” He teeters forward again and finally turns his head. The man behind him has his hand out as if to say ‘wait’, his steps taking him closer, one inch at a time. Kise gives him a small smile. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Hey, hey,  _hey_ \--!” The officer lurches forward just as Kise’s hold on the railing slips. 

The champagne bottle is the first to go, shattering on the balcony floor before Kise lets go, his eyes closing as he feels the rush of wind on his face. Then he feels it; a tug on his arm so painful it causes his breath to catch. He cries out, his lips trembling, and lifts his gaze to see the officer bent over the balcony edge, holding Kise’s wrist for dear life. 

Kise squeezes his eyes shut and turns away; he can’t bear to see that desperation, that helplessness. He must feel like dead weight, but the officer holds on nonetheless, his grip unwavering. “Don’t...”

“No, come on, Kise!” The officer’s voice rises an octave; he’s no longer hiding his fear. In fact, he seems to throw everything to the wind, his sole focus entirely on Kise and the vice grip he has on Kise’s wrist. “Look at me, damn it! Shit. Just...” He groans in frustration as his hold starts to slip. “Please... just look at me! Look at me, Kise.”

Something in his tone catches Kise’s attention, makes him open his eyes and glance up to meet a pair of piercing blue. There’s a determination behind them, a genuine concern Kise hasn’t seen in a long while. It hooks him; a new tether. And then the officer says something that jolts him out of his stupor:

“ _I see you._ ”

“W-What?”

“I see you, Kise.” The officer stretches out his other hand, brows creased together, straining to hold on. “Just... take my hand, okay? Keep your eyes on me.”

In that moment, something catches inside him. It grabs hold and digs in, gives him a moment of clarity.

He wants to live. 

Breathing hoarse and staggered, he stares at the hand reaching for him like a lifeline before forcing himself to make a grab for it. He grunts from the exertion, but he struggles, fights for it because for the first time in his life, someone sees him.

In his worst moment, someone sees who he really is and thought there is something there worth saving. Something behind all the makeup, the music, the public sham he knows he is. Something worthwhile. 

He’s up and over the balcony before he has the chance to let it all sink in. They’re both gasping for breath and he feels the officer tremble against him, warm hands grasping his chilled arms as their eyes meet. The same genuine concern is still there and it makes Kise’s chest ache, makes him long for it. 

“I--” he begins, but really, what could he say that would make a difference? 

“Are you okay?” the officer asks, his brows pinched together. His breathing is still shallow, ragged, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything other than making sure Kise is all right. “Are you hurt?”

“N-No, I’m fine,” Kise manages. He hears clamoring footsteps from inside the room. He doesn’t have much time. Quickly, before they can take him away, he asks, “Your name?”

The officer looks somewhat confused, but answers anyway, his eyes searching Kise’s face. “Aomine Daiki. Why?”

Before Kise can respond, Rika and Reiko burst through the balcony entrance and hoist him up. They’re frantic and screeching in his ear, chattering about something he doesn’t pay attention to; he nods when he’s asked if he’s okay. Before they take him inside, he stops and turns toward the officer, a silent sentient watching them go. 

“Thank you, Aomine--” He pauses before adding, “--cchi.”

And he’s whisked away again before Aomine has a chance to respond to the odd nickname.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be totally appreciated. :D Thanks for reading!
> 
> -H


	2. Not What It Seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise's fall makes news and a lie makes him wonder if the damage control is worth the debris it leaves behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partly inspired by [NONI’s Blackbird cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6eq_TS3Xksc) originally by Nina Simone.

* * *

_  
"Our greatest pretenses are built up not to hide the evil and the ugly in us, but our emptiness. The hardest thing to hide is something that is not there."_

-Eric Hoffer

* * *

 

Blankets and chatter are all Kise can discern from the chaos his hotel room has turned into. There are clothes scattered every which way, makeup and hair products left in various places while everyone bends over backwards and forwards and all other directions trying to do a million different things at once. Everywhere, people are fussing over him, cleaning him up from the mess he's made of himself, giving him what they think he wants.

All without ever asking.

He hears the voices, but he can't tell one from the other. It's all white noise, all droning and insignificant and unbelievably suffocating. A white cloud - noxious and making it difficult to stop the room from spinning no matter how hard he tries. He's gotten through situations like this before, survived them and emerged with his mirror-practiced smile plastered on his face like the old theater masks Rika keeps a set of in her office. But maybe it's the exhaustion from the balcony scene he's just tried to pull or the alcohol still swimming in his veins and making him hazy that does him in; either way, he feels the cracks in the ruse begin to expand, fissures he can't stop, not like this.

Finally, he's had enough.

"Stop!"

Around him, people stop what they're doing, freeze in their tracks. It's the first time he's ever asserted himself and from the looks of surprise everyone casts his way, they are dumbfounded enough to not know how to handle it. Even Kuroko and Takao are inanimate, Kuroko's hands sticky with wax and halted mid-sweep.

"Ryouta-kun," Rika begins, lowering the phone to her side as she takes a step toward him.

Kise's eyes dart to the phone and he realizes that though she's taken it off her ear, whoever is on the other end of the line is clearly important enough to be kept connected. He averts his eyes and shakes his head. "Would everyone just give me a minute? Please?"

"We don't have a minute," Rika argues. Kise suddenly feels ten years old, pouting about not getting the too-big smoking jacket he saw in some old drama as Rika uses the voice she's using now to smooth things over. The reminder makes his stomach knot.

Reiko steps up behind her, more tentative that her older sister, but her voice doesn't waver. "I've already set up the press conference. The media's going nuts with this." She pauses when she realizes Kise's staring at her, but recovers quickly enough to pin him with a reproachful one of her own. "Don't look at me like that. You're the one that decided it was a good idea to sit on the balcony while you got drunk."

"What Reiko means is that we need to make sure the media doesn't blow this out of proportion." Rika's smile is saccharine, but Kise knows better. He's seen the same smile directed at him enough times to know that Reiko would be getting an earful later, away from prying ears.

"And what is it, exactly?" Kise asks, though he already knows the answer.

Rika shrugs. The minute changes in her expression are hard to read and Kise is still too drunk to try and figure it out. "An accident, of course. What else could it be?"

Before Kise can refute the claim, one of the assistants pops his head inside. "Everyone's assembled in the banquet hall. We're live in ten minutes."

"I just need a--" Kise protests.

"I already told you," Rika interrupts as she looks at him and cups a hand over her phone, "we don't have a minute."

Kise's jaw sets, teeth grinding with rising frustration. Even now, no one listens, no one hears, no one sees. His fists clench at his sides as he sucks in a breath. Suddenly, all the sounds are amplified - the murmured conversation from the television program on the flat screen, the shuffle of feet uncomfortable and awkward among the rest of the staff, ice clinking and liquid sloshing as someone pours a drink into their glass. Everything clear. In the next moment, the pitcher of water he's grabbed from the table next to him zips past Rika's head and shatters against the creme colored wall behind her.

"I said," he says, voice tight and expression blank as he meets her stricken gaze, "I need a minute."

All eyes are on Kise, including Rika's. Even Reiko has the sense to stop whatever she's doing as the air stills and tenses around them. For as long as Kise has been pushed and shoved on his way to the top, not once has he ever held his ground this way, especially not against his sisters. It is an unspoken rule that whatever they say goes, whatever demands they have, met. Even if those words and actions are directed at the very person now challenging them, feet planted firmly where he stands, silent and mutinous.

It's Rika who caves first. Her brow twitches, a telling sign that Kise is going to get an earful when all is said and done, but she relaxes and motions everyone toward the door. Her lips purse, like she's contemplating her next move, scrutinizing Kise to see how far he is willing to take his sudden tantrum. " _Everyone out_."

And just like that, they follow, all looking exceptionally relieved at the chance to leave the room before the real battle breaks out. Only Rika and Reiko remain, the vein at Rika's temple throbbing as she bears the full weight of her probing stare on Kise.

"Is this some sort of cry for help? I'm trying to understand, I am," Rika begins, her struggle with keeping calm audible in the angry tremor of her voice.

_Yes_ , he wants to say.  _I'm drowning and no one cares._

Instead, he shakes his head in silence.

"Then what is it?" she asks, clearly throwing her pretense at patience out the window. "Why, tonight of all nights, did you think it was a good idea to pull a stunt like this?"

She looks even more intimidating than she usually does and Kise remembers when she used to scold him after he'd gotten lost in his own bubble, lost track of time. He often did when he's stuck in his own head, trying to wade through the thoughts and worries that everyone seems content to think he doesn't have. Pretty faces aren't supposed to think deeper than the kiddie pool and somehow, Rika's current expression makes him more resentful of the insinuation.

"I was drunk and I got carried away. I said I was sorry," Kise mutters, the apology as empty as he feels.

"But that's just it. You don't drink. You don't do drugs. You don't--" She scoffs and inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. Kise can practically hear her counting down in her head before she continues, "It doesn't matter. You have five minutes to get your shit together, Ryouta."

Though the words are harsh, there's a tiredness behind them, a sense of defeat that shadows a glimpse of how Rika used to be be, of the sister instead of the manager that Kise hasn't seen in so long. But it's gone as quickly as it had come and she stalks out of the room, her attention already back on her unfinished phone call.

Reiko steps forward then, less severe than Rika, but showing the same disapproval nonetheless. She reaches to smooth her hands across his shoulders before straightening the lapel of his blazer. Her expression softens. She takes his face into her hands and forces him to focus on her. "Look, I know you're tired. We're all tired. It's part of the job for us as much as it is for you. But you need to fix this. You understand that much, don't you?"

Kise swallows, the lump his throat refusing to disappear. He is tempted to tell her he doesn't want to go through with it, doesn't want to pretend to be someone he's not, to act a part in his own life like the parts in his movies. But when he sees the plea in her eyes, the words don't come. Instead, he nods and says, "What about the officer that was here?"

"What about him? We gave him a check and the standard gag order."

"I want him there."

"You know that's not a good idea, Ryou-kun--"

"I want to publicly thank him," Kise says, his tone final. "I'll say whatever you want me to say as long as you make sure he's at the press conference."

Reiko looks somewhat relieved, typing out a quick text before she nods.

"Done."

She brushes his hair from his eyes and plants a kiss on his cheek. "I'm going to see if they need any help with the media circus outside. You've got three minutes left before Rika drags you out there. Make sure you use them well, little brother." And then she, too, is gone, leaving Kise to the empty silence of the hotel room.

* * *

 

The press conference has already begun by the time Kuroko stops messing with his hair and Takao's exhausted the lint roller on his suede blazer. Kise sees the camera flashes through the open entrance leading into the conference room before he hears the impatient questions directed at his sisters while they wait for him to arrive. For a second, he feels like he's going to puke; just lose whatever is left from the cheese and crackers he'd inhaled before the show right on the fancy carpet of the fancy hotel, the media and their pariah photographers be damned.

Takao nudges him, a crease forming between his brows. "Do you need me to grab a paper bag or something? You don't look so hot."

Despite the tingling feeling spreading up from his fingertips, Kise manages to shake his head and drag out a long breath before his thousand-watt smile is back and ready for business. He can do this; he's done it so many times before. Tilt his head, look enthralling, flash the impish grin, flip the hair, stretch the grin until the smile sparkles enough to blind the rabid crowd.

"I'm fine; great, actually," he says convincingly enough that Takao returns the smile. "Let's get this over with, huh? Rika's going to blow that vein in her temple if I don't shut these rumors down before I head to the after party."

"Kise-kun," Kuroko says, hesitant.

"Don't worry so much, Kurokocchi! They'll be eating out of my hand when I'm done with them. I'm a natural, remember?" Kise pats Kuroko's shoulder, the gesture more confident than he feels.

With both Takao and Kuroko trailing after him, he steps into the room, flashing lights and clamoring voices now focused solely on him. His facial muscles are automatic, schooling the smile he knows everyone's on the look out for. They're all predators, each and every one, trying to find weaknesses, unabashed about exploiting them, no matter the consequences.  _Not with me_ , he vows,  _not ever_.

Kise saunters up to the podium, his confidence rock solid even with the slight falter in his step, and holds up a hand to quiet the anxious reporters. He sees the officer from his peripheral and for whatever reason, knowing he's there gives Kise some reassurance. He seriously hopes whatever amount Reiko has offered Aomine is enough to maintain the gag order. "First off, I'd like to thank you guys for coming out on such short notice," he says with a chuckle. He makes sure to add the teasing lilt in his voice, makes sure to throw in a wink for good measure. It garners the response he expects: murmured acknowledgements and a few sheepish nods. "So much support, even if my celebratory party got a little bit of a head start. I'm glad you're all here to help me set the record straight."

It's a joke, really. The media doesn't rest when it comes to him. There is always someone watching, always someone looking to get the next great shot or the next scandalous story. They all watch him now, attentive eyes scrutinizing every movement, every word, every flicker of emotion he's careful to keep hidden behind the winning smile. The room tilts, just slightly.

_"Kise! Are you okay?"_

_"How are you feeling after that fall?"_

_"What's the real story here?"_

_"How are you handling the media backlash?"_

"One at a time, please," Rika interrupts, stern. She gives Kise a nod to signal that it's all right to start answering questions.

"I'm fantastic," Kise chirps, tossing his hair out of his eyes in a gesture so practiced he does it without thinking and trying his best to keep his focus on something in the audience in an attempt to ignore the continued sensation in his arms. His chest feels tight, a weight settling there that refuses to budge. The room begins to spin and he has to brace his weight against the podium. "I had a little too much to drink and it probably wasn't the best idea to stand on the balcony by myself." He laughs then, forced but thankfully, the reporters don't seem to notice. "Slippery thing, that railing. Shouldn't mix alcohol with balconies, that's for sure!"

The audience echoes his laughter, though some of them still look more than a little skeptical.

"What about the officer?" one of them, a lanky man with horn-rimmed glasses, asks as he extends the voice recorder he's holding. "What does he have to say about this? Can he shed some light on what happened?"

"Kise's just said what happened," Rika snaps, and Kise has to conspicuously grab the crook of her elbow to reel her back. "Stop trying to use the press conference as some platform for your gossip bullshit."

"Hey, we deserve to know what happened," the reporter shoots back, his eyes meeting Rika's unspoken challenge. "I think we'd all be really interested in what he has to say."

Kise takes the opportunity to pull Aomine into the spotlight. He feels him tense under his fingers, muscles cording underneath the dark blue of his uniform fabric. Aomine's head ducks, maybe to conceal his discomfort or to hide from the continuous flashes from the photographers who got a little click-happy. Then Kise gets a fleeting look at his expression before it disappears behind something more neutral, more business-like. He knows that look; he's worn it enough times to spot it on someone else. Guilt knots his stomach, but he forces it back, and tugs on Aomine's arm to bring him centered behind the podium.

"Officer Aomine! Is it true you barely managed to pull Kise back after he fell?" Mr. Horn-Rimmed Glasses asks, his expression eager. Kise doesn't miss the encouraging nod, like he was prompting Aomine to say something that contradicts Kise's version of the story. "Was it really an accident?"

"I heard he jumped!" another reporter pipes up. "Any truth to that?"

It takes all of Kise's will power to keep from saying something, to protect Aomine from the hunger of the pariahs out for blood. He shoots a pointed look at Rika before she can interrupt again, giving her a subtle shake of his head and turning back to Aomine. The officer glances at him. He looks uneasy, unsure of what to say to the barrage of questions Kise has already anticipated. Kise levels his gaze, silently pleading, hoping Aomine will go along with whatever script his sisters have given him.

Aomine clears his throat, leaning into the microphone just enough to cause the feedback to painfully rip through the hushed crowd waiting for his response. He flinches in response and moves back a fraction, the drawl in his voice more pronounced through the speakers. "Ki-- Mr. Kise entered the hotel room first and gave me instructions not to let anyone in. I followed ‘em, but went in to check on him anyway after his assistants insisted. I got there right when he went over and caught him before he fell."

"So this wasn't a suicide attempt? Witnesses say he was hanging over the railing."

The reporter with the horn-rimmed glasses seems to be especially keen on earning his paycheck. Again, the room tilts just the slightest and Kise has to hold on to the edge of the podium for support. He hopes no one notices, or at least chalks it up to his slightly drunken escapade.

_Please_ , he thinks,  _please don't let them make me out to be more of a freak than I already am._

With a quick glance in Kise’s direction, Aomine turns toward the reporters again, his face pinching uncomfortably before he schools it to a more neutral front. “Suicide? No, no suicide attempt.” He looks about ready to say more, but seems to rethink it, instead offering the media a tight-lipped smile and mumbling a quiet, “thanks, that’s all I gotta say” and stepping off to the side. 

Kise has the floor again, brilliant smile stretched so wide that the muscles hurt from the forcible strain. “I think we’ve covered everything,” he begins, but again, the barrage of questions interrupt him. 

Thankfully, Rika comes to his rescue and places a hand over the microphone as she hisses, “keep that smile on and nod to excuse yourself.” Then she turns back to the pack of hungry paparazzi with a smile so dazzling there’s no question whose which gene pool she shares. “Thank you all for coming. Any other questions you have for Ryouta can be fielded to me. Yes, second from the right in row three--”

Glad for the reprieve, Kise does as he’s told, the smile he wears plastered on his face until he reaches the dimly lit corridor behind the conference hall. A few of the second assistants linger, whispering among themselves and trying to look like they’re doing something instead of standing there waiting for the ball to drop. One sharp glance from Kise and they scatter faster than the time it takes for him to deposit himself into the metal folding chair by the wall. His head dips back to rest against the off-white plaster, eyelids in danger of slipping shut when he realizes that he’s not entirely alone. 

Aomine, still wearing the same discomfited expression from his brief stint on the podium, sits a few yards from Kise. He’s slouched in his seat, legs slightly parted, forearms resting atop the curves of his knees. He looks disheveled, exhausted, utterly drained in a way that Kise understands, and for a moment, guilt settles in his gut from the lie he’s forced Aomine to tell for the sake of his reputation. Shrewd as he feels, he forces the sensation away, locks it up to keep the anxiety company somewhere deep inside where no one can use them against him. He ignores the lingering tingle on the tips of his fingers, imagines himself on some island somewhere with no obligations, no schedule to keep, no one to answer to. The imagery is enough to keep him level for the time being, enough to keep him grounded that no one would know any better.

But when he catches Aomine’s gaze, it dawns on him that he’s not entirely right. That there is someone who knows better, someone who gives a shit enough to see past the glitter, the glam, the awards. And he’s sitting in front of Kise, the disappointment in his eyes clear as day, though he says nothing, makes no move to show it otherwise. 

Kise tilts his head to the side, his mouth curving into a knowing smirk. “I guess this makes the initial gig a little sweeter, huh? What are you going to do now, I wonder?”

Aomine studies him for a few seconds, his eyes minutely narrowed, before he finally speaks. “Do what with what, exactly?”

The confusion is there, masking the insult Kise knows doesn’t go unnoticed. A part of him feels a sliver of satisfaction, a certain smugness he embraces that for a fleeting moment, someone else is on the other side, someone else is feeling a fraction of whatever it is that makes his chest twinge and stomach twist. He widens the smirk. “Your fifteen minutes of fame. What else?” A chuckle escapes, slightly malicious, but mostly bitter. “I’ll bet the girls’ll be all over you after this. ‘Hero officer saves triple threat powerhouse Kise Ryouta from certain death’. Can’t you just imagine the headlines now?”

From the way Aomine’s jaw clenches, Kise knows he’s hit a nerve. Aomine’s nostrils flare, his exhale sharp while he takes a moment to debate his response. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve.” The muscles in his forearms flex, his fists slightly balled before he straightens his fingers out and releases a breath. Even from where he sits, Kise sees Aomine’s struggle to remain remotely civil. “I’m not gonna play your little game. You’re pulling this shit now, after you were the one hanging off the goddamn balcony?”

At that, Kise snorts, incredulous. “And you were the one yelling ' _I see you, I see you_ ’. Well, Officer,” he taunts, gaze steeling as he directs it unblinkingly at Aomine, “what the hell is it you see?”

Their eyes lock that way for longer than Kise expects. Aomine’s lips purse, his gaze studious and entirely focused on Kise like he’s the only one in the room. The intensity causes Kise to break the connection first, his cheeks flushing much to his chagrin. When he looks at Aomine again, Aomine is already standing, expression deadpanned and devoid of whatever had been there only moments before.

“Nothing,” Aomine says evenly, his head shaking. “Not a goddamn thing.”

Something lances through Kise as the words sink in, something worse than pain, numbing and amplifying the emptiness already there. As if on cue, Rika and Reiko emerge from the conference hall to usher him back to his room, barking orders to the staff trailing behind them. 

He turns toward where Aomine had been, hoping to catch one last glimpse, one last fleeting look to convince him that maybe he’d heard wrong. 

But Aomine is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for being so patient with the update! Feedback's greatly appreciated!
> 
> -H

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ [limitlessmonster](http://limitlessmonster.tumblr.com). :D


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